Finding His Way
by your-icequeen
Summary: <html><head></head>Sherlock and Lestrade have been together for a while and then John shows up. S/L  more than implied , S/J  pre-slash . This is the last of my previously posted fics, every thing from here on out is new.</html>


Lestrade was sitting at his desk when the call came in. Another explosion had rocked his city. This time there was no prelude but it still felt connected to all the others.

"Why the pool?" He wondered to himself as he started towards the car.

What was only a matter of seconds seemed to stretch on for a lifetime as Sherlock lowered the gun. Moriarty, almost reptilian, attempted to stare him down.

John positioned himself slightly so when the inevitable occurred and Sherlock pulled the trigger he could react as needed.

And then it happened.

Using his body to shield Sherlock's, John flung them both into the pool.

The last thoughts that passed thru his head were, firstly, to hold them both down as long as possible. And secondly, that Sherlock was still alive and struggling against him.

Then there was black.

By the time the DI made it to the blast site, the paramedics were already loading a body onto the stretcher.

Having seen the plain black sedan parked on the road below, Lestrade's heart fluttered at the possibility of it being Sherlock. He breathed a sigh of relief when a second EMT helped the thin man from the edge of the pool.

He rushed to meet Sherlock on his way to the ambulance. Though his first instinct was to hug him and thank god that Sherlock was alright, they didn't do that. Even after a year together, there was no touching in public. It was one of the few rules Sherlock had placed on their relationship, if you could call it that. And since he was often denied the taller man's presence in his bed during cases anyway, it was easy to abide by.

"Sherlock?" Lestrade sounded almost frantic. The only response he received was an impatient glare. "Are you alright?"

"Obviously." Sherlock snapped.

"What happened?"

"Not now, Lestrade."

"Is Moriarty dead?"

"No." His tone was distracted as he watched the back of the ambulance.

"Sherlock, you need to tell me something."

"No, you need to do your job and I need to accompany John to hospital."

Lestrade finally looked at the stretcher that was being loaded into the ambulance. The paramedics were cutting off the unconscious doctor's clothes.

"Go on then. I will talk to you as soon as he is settled."

He watched Sherlock climb into the back of the ambulance, silently cataloging the cut along Sherlock's cheekbone, the way he barely moved his left arm, favoring the shoulder and the blank look on his face as the doors shut.

It did not surprise him when the sedan pulled out into traffic behind the emergency vehicle. He would have to trust Mycroft to look after Sherlock now, he had work to do.

Sherlock hovered in the doorway to the waiting room. They would not let him in to surgery with John so he had been banished here to this dull beige room that was supposed to be comforting and warm like one of John's jumpers. But it wasn't either of those things.

And he didn't like that there was no way to sit in the room and see down the hall to the operating room.

Logically, he knew that Moriarty's trail was only growing colder. That he would go to wherever he goes, lick his wounds and plan the next attack. Even that conscious thought could not stop him from refusing medical treatment to stand in a doorway.

"You don't do him any good in the state you are in." Having heard the familiar steps, Sherlock hadn't even turned to look.

"You're not doing him any good being here at all. Where was your precious surveillance team tonight, Mycroft." He practically spat the last word.

"Doing exactly that, Sherlock, surveilling. I was alerted the moment he was taken. Unfortunately, whoever took Dr Watson managed to lose his tail. At that point we focused on your meeting instead, doubling manpower, knowing he would turn up there."

The sound of high heels on the tiled floor drew Sherlock's attention.

"Its been taken care of, Sir." Said the sharp familiar voice.

"Ah, wonderful. Sherlock, go with Lila please. She has arranged for a doctor to see you."

"The best doctor in the city, no doubt."

"Actually, no, the second best. The best is currently working on your friend."

Sherlock ignored him. The only doctor he wanted to see right now was being attended to himself.

"Brother, stop being petulant. I will stand here and keep an eye out."

Sherlock pushed himself off the door jam and followed the assistant down the hall.

Mycroft watched him go.

Lestrade walked thru the debris. The only bodies they had found appeared to be snipers. They, themselves, had been systematically assassinated. Based off their locations, he knew they were not the intended targets of the bomb.

Sally came thru the door to his right.

"Sir, it's possible that someone could have made it out the emergency exit and not been noticed. It appears to be a CCTV blind spot."

Lestrade nodded. He had figured as much and probably not a scrap of usable evidence would have been left behind.

"Assuming Moriarty was standing near the bomb, there had to be a second man to take care of the snipers. Check that angle and see if we can find out who else was here."

He knew it should have bothered him that he had not even realized that it was Dr Watson on the stretcher but all he could think about was Sherlock. He had been informed that they rushed the doctor into surgery, and yet it was still Sherlock's well being that he was thinking about now.

"Any word from the freak?" Sally asked, almost as if she could read his thoughts.

"Nothing yet. I'm heading to see if I can get a statement out of him. You're in charge."

Arriving at hospital, Lestrade was made his way to the waiting rooms. Expecting to see Sherlock, he was surprised by the presence of the other Holmes.

"Ah, Detective Inspector, what can I do for you?"

"Actually, I was looking for Sherlock. I need to get his statement."

"He is currently with a doctor."

"Is he alright?" Lestrade asked concerned.

"He will be. Physically, Sherlock is very resilliant. Emotionally, however, I wonder."

"Emotionally? Sherlock is all rationality, all the time. I'm sure that once he is assured the doctor is okay, he will be back to his deductive self." Lestrade says.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

"Do you really? While you are here, I have been meaning to ask you, where do you think your relationship with my dear brother is going?"

Lestrade responded after a moment of confusion. "Excuse me?"

Mycroft looked down his nose. "I do hate to repeat myself."

"I, um, care for Sherlock. And I believe the feelings he has for me are as close to love as he can be expected to have."

"Quite. I would have agreed with you until recently." He paused.

"Sherlock is in no state to see anyone right now. You will get nothing useful for the time being. My assistant will read you in on all you need to know. That should be sufficient."

After years of office politics, Lestrade knew the sound of being dismissed. He waited down the hall a bit for the assistant to find him.

Hours later, John had finally been settled into a private room, courtesy of Mycroft, of course.

Sherlock sat in the uncomfortable plastic chair beside his bed. The staff had offered to roll in a cot, since it was obvious he would not be leaving, but he had turned them down. Sleeping was not on the agenda either. He watched the rise and fall of John's chest.

I will burn the heart out of you.

This didn't make any sense to Sherlock. Why had Moriarty gone for John? There was no logic behind it. He should have abducted Lestrade. If Jim had been watching him for as long as he hinted then it would have been obvious that he had only known John for a few months now and that he was having sex with the Detective.

"Sherlock?"

He glanced up to see Lestrade standing just inside the door. He hadn't even heard him coming down the hall. Sherlock silently berated himself for not paying more attention.

"Why didn't he take you?"

"What?" Lestrade was confused by the question.

"It should have been you! Why did he take John and not you?" Sherlock quickly lowered his voice. He did not want to disturb John, even though logically he knew John was unconscious and could hear nothing.

"Would that have been more tolerable?"

"Yes, because at least then I could work." Sherlock turned his attention back to John.

Lestrade opened his mouth to respond but closed it. He once again took in Sherlock's appearance. The man still had not changed out of the suit he was wearing at the pool. His arm was in a sling due to the dislocated shoulder he had suffered. His cheek was bandaged. And his eyes, normally wild with thought now showed something that Lestrade could not place.

It was obvious that he that he was going to be ignored. He turned and walked out of the room. He thought back to a time when he, himself, was injured on a case. Sherlock had not even visited him in hospital. But he and Doctor Watson were different, he was a sworn Detective not a civilian. It was expected that something would happen to him at some point. Even the voice in his head sounded skeptical as he thought it. Besides, he assured himself, Sherlock had stayed on the case and solved it even before Lestrade had been discharged a day later.

Sherlock heard a whispered "Whoohoo" from the door. He looked up to see Mrs. Hudson walk in. She carried a couple of bags.

"Sherlock dear, I brought you a change of clothes. That nice brother of yours stopped by and said you had not changed in the two days that you have been here. I also threw in a few things for your Doctor Watson."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. I know he will appreciate it when he wakes up." Sherlock tried not to think "if."

"So no change then?" She pulled up the chair next to him and put her hand on his arm. "I'm sure he is going to be okay, Sherlock."

"How can you know?" Sherlock asked as he stared back at John.

"I just do. He would never leave you, Sherlock. I don't even think death could keep him away."

"Mrs. Hudson, that's absurd. There is no way-"

"What I am saying is that even though he is unconscious he is doing everything he can to get back to you. It's his way."

Sherlock steepled his fingers below his chin. "Yes, sensible, caring John."

"More so when you're involved, Sherlock. Do change out of those clothes. Now would be as good a time as any. I will sit with him a while."

Sherlock took the bag she had brought with him to the in-room shower.

He stood under the shower for a few minutes but kept an ear out the whole time should John awaken. Sherlock knew Mrs. Hudson would watch him as well as a mother hen but he also knew that he needed to be there when it happened.

She left soon after Sherlock emerged and his body finally succumbed to the need for sleep. He laid his head down on John's hip and drifted off.

Lestrade was standing in the hall, looking in the window when Mycroft walked up to him.

"Ah, Detective Inspector Lestrade, how nice to see you again. I see my brother is finally comfortable."

"He has been like that since I got here. I didn't want to wake him."

"Yes, well, he has had a trying few days. Though we both know he would never admit it."

"When or if Doctor Watson wakes, what's Sherlock going to do next, Mycroft?"

"I don't know. He's never been in love before."

Lestrade's attention was jerked to Mycroft. With that one line, Sherlock's previous behaviors all fell into place.

"Come, Gregory, I will buy you a cup of tea."

Sherlock woke when he felt fingers in his hair. He tensed for a moment, taking in his surroundings. The pressure was not threatening and he could hear no one else in the room. He did not raise his head but just turned it to look at his friend.

"John." He whispered.

John smiled at him and allowed his hand to cup Sherlock's cheek before he drifted back to sleep.

And Sherlock followed soon after.


End file.
